


Unreasonable

by urusai_lilania



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urusai_lilania/pseuds/urusai_lilania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya has never understood what goes on in Shizuo's mind, but he's beginning to think it's absolutely nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unreasonable

**Author's Note:**

> An older drabble I wrote when the original anime was being aired. Part of a major move of my stories from AarinFantasy and LiveJournal to here.

Unreasonable.

The word itself spoke volumes. Irrational, foul-tempered, excessive, unprovoked, unnecessary… the word could be replaced with so many things, and it’d all still fit. Izaya chose “unreasonable” because the other man was just that—impossible to reason with, to speak sense with. Of course, Izaya’s own mode of sense was not something that others followed without difficulty. After a minute or two of him waxing philosophic at them, they either agreed because he had infected them, because they were confused as all hell and it sounded good, or just to get the crimson-eyed male to shut up… and were sorely disappointed when he simply changed tangents. All this, of course, was if he wasn’t in Ikebukuro. If he was in Ikebukuro, he often did not have enough  _time_  to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Not recently, at least.

Shizuo had become more and more…  _unreasonable_  lately. Violent. He must surely hate Izaya quite passionately that he would greet the man with violence the moment he felt his presence, yes? The man “hated violence”, after all.

Following that sort of thinking, that would make Izaya the embodiment of violence. What a load of bull; everyone in Ikebukuro  _knew_  that the definition of the word violence—as well as unreasonable, volatile, and royal  _pain in the ass—_ were listed as “see Shizuo Heiwajima”.

Scoffing under his breath, Izaya kicked a rock around and glanced once more at his cell phone. Failing to stir anything up in the area himself, he had attempted to casually stumble into something juicy, anything at all. Hell, he’d have taken a week-old lark compared to nothing at all. This emptiness, this  _boredom_ … it made his mind reel. If left to its own devices, even the most reasonable, stable mind would quake before long.

Izaya wasn’t going to suggest where his own mind lay along the fault line; that was for the rest of them to decide. He had different tactics for different people—he was flexible. That damned Shizuo…  _he_  was  _anything_  but flexible.

Giving his rock one last solid kick, Izaya listened with dull approval to the sharp resounding ping as the projectile ricocheted off a shop’s thick glass pane. And that was done with.

The thin man stood there for a moment, staring into the air before his nose. Then, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his parka, Izaya Orihara spun around on his heel and waltzed down the street. One more try. One more round. If this one failed, he’d admit defeat for a bit and go snag some fatty tuna at Russia Sushi. He’d figure out where to eat it while he roamed for now.

The sun was setting on the wandering man by the time he got an answer.

“ _Iii-za-ya-kuuun_.”

Ah. Bingo. Izaya allowed his feet to bring him one more pace before freezing in his gait, his entire being seemingly brimming with electricity. His body shook with barely held back laughter, his annoyance twisting his lips, bringing them into an even wider smirk than he usually opted for. Spinning around on his heel to face the epicenter of the malice, Izaya appraised his opponent. “Oh? Done with work for the night, Shizu-chan?”

Flexing his hands, the man who was never seen without his bartending clothes growled deeply, his expression feral. Izaya could see the vein pulse, could see the way the man’s eyes grew; it wasn’t amazing eyesight that allowed for this, simply an image that was permanently burned into the back of his eyes.

This man would always hate him.

Years had passed since their first encounter, and, if anything, Shizuo might have actually grown to hate Izaya  _more_. Izaya couldn’t manipulate a change in the man; the hatred was there before he had even done anything, so that didn’t count. No, he was some sort of  _waste bin_  to pour all of the angry man’s destructive energy within. Izaya wondered vaguely if Shizuo would explode without him being around now. How had the blonde let off his pressure during the years that Izaya had “disappeared” from his life? Hell, how many helpless innocents had Shizuo taken down in unmaintained bursts of rage with both Kasuka and Izaya missing from his life? The thought warmed Izaya’s heart; he didn’t even have to dip his hand into some people’s lives and could still inadvertently fuck them over—even if it had been done by this man’s hands. It was tainted, surely. Those people were hardly worth raising any effort on Izaya’s part though…

Izaya fingered his knife, waiting. Shizuo was standing before him, the air around them boiling from sheer tension. The bull was waiting for a sign. This lull happened now and again, whenever Shizuo seemed to catch Izaya off-guard. He either found out about the debt collector’s proximity through a courteous mailbox/vending machine/trash can or this strange aggressive greeting. This demand. As if Izaya had nothing better to do than allow himself to be trashed by this man.

Izaya considered what that meant. Shizuo needed the release, didn’t he? But he’d wait at times, for a reason? No. He was unreasonable, and failed to be a contradictory being. He waited because relentless aggression was unpredictable, and waiting itself was a result of that? Regardless, Shizuo waited for an acknowledgement with heavy breath. He needed the release; what did Izaya need?

No one particularly  _cared_  about what happened to Izaya; he knew this. There was no point in lying to himself because he had already long ago decided that he could live without that sort of thing. But sometimes… sometimes something leaked through. Maybe he would take his own words to heart today. He wasn’t suicidal, but masochism sure as hell came close depending on how you took to it. Maybe he would make Shizuo feed that part of him.  _Let_. The man would do it anyway, right? Izaya didn’t have any say on what the stupid blonde did. Standing this long in tentative greeting with the man in a rage was already bordering insanity, let alone masochism, was it not?

Invitingly, Izaya withdrew his hand from his pocket, blade tightly within his grasp. Shizuo wasted no time barreling forward. The only thing that Izaya had time to consider was that Shizuo hadn’t bothered to grab anything to beat him to death with—the man was coming at him with his body. That was fine by him—it was easier to dodge ranged attacks, but Izaya wanted to draw blood tonight, and it’d be so much easier with the man breathing hellfire on him. Blaming him, maybe, for some crime that Izaya never even knew he had committed—other than existing, and by Izaya’s own thoughts this was a crime all were guilty of. The point of living was to see how much one could get away with in any and every way possible.

But Shizuo was upon him now; there was no more time to think—only to duck, skid, strike, recoil. Taunt. Breathe. Live. Enjoy.

Did Shizuo enjoy this?

During these moments, Shizuo was the only existence in Izaya’s world, and he had never invited that man in. Or, he had, once upon a time, not realizing the sheer tenacious passion of the other man. He was something that could not simply be walked away from, dropped, stomped on, ignored—if anything it only made the other man’s zeal grow. Izaya couldn’t know what that felt like, the will it took to stick to something for so long, to  _feel_  so harshly for so long. He only felt the debris of Shizuo’s passions as it rebounded upon him, was unleashed at him with the full fury of a pissed off god.

As if Shizuo had been brought upon this soil simply to drive Izaya insane, to flummox him with his sheer lack of reason, lack of thought, lack of care that was really the exact opposite of what it sounded like.

He also usually ignored that Shizuo was born first, or that this sort of thing meant that he was more likely to die first. And while all these annoying little thoughts flitted through his mind at high speed, Izaya was highly suspicious that absolutely nothing was going on in that damn idiot’s mind except the desire to kill him without reason.

 _Unreasonable_.

He hated that more than anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Just updating this file with relevant info, loves! After much insistence from my dearest foo, I plan on becoming much more active here than I ever was. I have a lot of half-written things to finish and post! Until then, love love!
> 
> Interested in checking out my original writing? You can find me and my happenings [here](http://nikkitapierrottie.com/)!


End file.
